


If I could trade a thousand tomorrows for just one yesterday (I wouldn't do it)

by Galysh_Sky



Category: Violet Evergarden (Anime)
Genre: Benedict Blue & Claudia Hodgins & Cattleya Baudelaire, Claudia Hodgins & Gilbert Bougainvillea, F/M, Friends to Lovers, Implied/Referenced Torture, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-16
Updated: 2018-09-16
Packaged: 2019-07-13 06:10:08
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,341
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16011890
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Galysh_Sky/pseuds/Galysh_Sky
Summary: Who put blinkers on Love? What does it mean to be a family? Who said that family was born of blood alone?Gilbert Bougainvillea, youngest son of the Marquis, honored veteran, and captain in the local police department, would just like to live his life in peace, while maybe occasionally dishing out justice. Unfortunately, he's alone in his opinion.With the kidnapping of his best friend, a reckoning is coming, it may take years but it is coming, and there's no peace to be found without justice.





	If I could trade a thousand tomorrows for just one yesterday (I wouldn't do it)

**Author's Note:**

> After having watched the VE anime and falling love, I then read the LN and fell even deeper into that hole, so my brain went and did this. For reference, I will be using the LN's interpretation of Hodgins' orientation (Bisexual).

**Malvarma**

A flick of his hand, a signal easily understood and obeyed. The repetitive thudding of heavy boots on a metal staircase. Down, down they went fading into the looming darkness. A clatter, a muffled curse. Silence, people waiting with baited breaths as the sound reverberated out and away, out of sight, out of control.

“Onwards,” he gave the order in a quiet hiss, perfected to reach the furthest man in their five-body squadron. The thudding resumed, as the men continued slipping between walls that pressed in on all sides and hung barely a few inches over their heads. The landing opened into a circular room. The point man recoiled at the stench, a gloved hand lifted to cover his mouth despite the presence of his mask. It was a scent that he recalled from the day that he had lead his men through a flood zone and the water had unveiled a mass burial. Bodies had swirled around them, fingers grasping at nothing and everything. Still holding his hand to his mouth and with the weight of his men’s gazes on his back he stepped forward again. The beam of his flashlight swept over dirty walls, metal crates piled two high, a large table from which hung several chains of varying sizes. The blood on it flaked when he scraped a snail down its surface. He stepped away, rubbing his fingers together tensely. A chocked sound had him crossing the room swiftly. One of his men, Three, was crouched in front of a metal crate. The cloth covering it had been pulled back revealing a sorry sight. A small body lay inside, dressed only in its hair and skin.

“Sir…” Three’s voice was shaking, he had removed a glove to stick his fingers into the crate. They rested lightly in the grasp of a tiny hand. “It’s warm, Sir, it blinked a moment ago. What should we do?”

 _Sir_ didn’t reply, he took a knee and inspected the lock, deducing that one solid strike would break it. “Get it out,” he ordered, he raised his voice as he continued, “Four, Five come check the other crates.” He rose, sweeping his flashlight around the room again, there was a dark spot in the far corner, one that looked much deeper than any shadow had the right to be.

“Alpha-1,” his second-in-command’s voice crackled in his ear. “Sir, you need to see this.”

The voice had come from that patch of shadows, he approached, noting upon closer inspection that it was a crevasse. The gap was so narrow that he had to turn sideways and suck his belly in to squeeze through. His second-in-command was kneeling by a larger body, the light reflected off deep red hair. A cold feeling trickled down his spine as he pulled off his gloves and reached out. The body was cold to the touch, a cold that spoke of days not hours. His heart in his throat he gently tilted the head up with two fingers under its chin. Dull gray-blue eyes, half-lidded, stared at him, blood, long dry, trailed down from between parted lips. It mingled with the strands of unkempt hair and stained a pale skin that had long ago lost its luster. The head lolled when he released it, bringing to light a a dark gaping gash where the throat had once been.

Gilbert Bougainvillea flung himself upright, slamming his elbow against the partition table in his haste to get away. Choking on air, nausea rising in the back of his throat and with his heart still caught up in a frantic race, he glanced sideways. The chair besides him was occupied. The body in it hidden beneath an array of field coats and blankets, expect for one long leg that lay elevated on the table. It had moved slightly when Gilbert had elbowed the partition revealing off-color bandages. Filled with a desperate need to just verify, Gilbert carefully lifted one of the jackets and eased his fingers inside. Warm skin complete with a fluttering pulse met his questing touch. He relaxed slightly sinking back into his own chair as his breath settled. For his own selfish reasons, he left his fingers where they were, and so felt the sudden tension enter his neighbor’s body. He started to withdraw his hand, but the mass of clothes stirred, and a steel grip settled around his wrist. The jackets shifted again, and a messy head of red hair popped partially up. Dark eyes peered out at him from behind the tousled fringe.

“Gil?” The voice was rough, barely audible, more of a squeak than anything else.

“Sorry, did I wake you?” Gilbert asked, he reached out only to freeze when the other figure visibly flinched.

“It’s fine,” came a murmur, “wasn’t sleeping.”

“Why?” Gilbert inquired automatically.

“…”

“Hodgins? Hey, talk to me,” Gilbert requested, he fought back the urge to lean closer but kept his gaze firmly fixed on his friend. In return, Hodgins’ eyes flitted away, looking at anything that would not require him to meet the major’s gaze. “Hey,” Gilbert tried again, “don’t be ashamed, whatever it is just tell me.”

“…Hurts,” Hodgins admitted, still looking away, and Gilbert winced feeling a hot bloom of guilt take root as the idiom ‘ _too little, too late’_ drifted through his head.

“Ah, I can’t…”

“I’m aware, forget it Gil,” Hodgins said and slid down in his chair, releasing the wrist. Gilbert let out a low growl, and looked around, no one was watching him, his unit having retreated to separate seats to lick their wounds in peace. It had been that kind of mission. He turned back to his friend and shifted the armrest out of the way. “C’mere” he ordered and received an inquiring noise but no other visible reactions. Gilbert inhaled, counted to 20, and exhaled. “Or don’t.” Very carefully he reached out and guided his friend to lean against him. Hodgins made a sound it might have been a whimper or a sob, but he settled quickly resting his head on Gilbert’s shoulder. The latter swallowed noisily and tried to relax, hating how light and thin his fellow major felt.

“You’ll be all right,” Gilbert murmured as Hodgins’s breath steadied, “you’re not alone.”

_7 Months Later_

The phone call came hours before his alarm clock was set to go off. Gilbert groaned aloud as he answered it, muttering a greeting that bore more semblance to a curse. The voice on the other sounded just as tired, if less rude, “Good morning, Sir. We’ve got a body, 6th street and Iwako park entrance.”

“I’m on my way,” Gil confirmed though it came out sounding more like a snarl. He hung up and tossed his phone in the general direction of the night table. It skidded across the surface stopping precariously on the edge. The pile of blankets on the other side of the bed stirred and a hand wriggled out to grasp his wrist. “Go back to sleep,” Gilbert said, “I’ve got a case.”

“At 3 o’clock in the morning?”

The voice to which the question belonged to was much to awake and clear for the hour. Gilbert frowned but let it slide, instead he existed the bed and approached the closet to collect his uniform. The bed creaked behind him followed by the sound of a door swinging open. “Go shower, I’ll make coffee,” Hodgins’ voice drifted back to him as he disappeared into the hallway. Gil sighed but did as bid.

15 minutes later, he was standing by the front door accepting a travel cup from his roommate. Hodgins was leaning against the wall, sipping from his own mug. “At least have breakfast with that,” Gilbert said, he finished tying his laces and stepped out the door. “Text me if something comes up.” Hodgins flapped a hand at him before pointedly shutting the door, Gilbert waiting long enough to hear the deadbolt slide home. His jeep rumbled to life after a few false starts, and he hastened to turn the heat on as his breath misted in front of his face. There was no traffic on the road, most of the city’s inhabitants wise enough to not risk the roads before their dawn salting, or simply smart enough to accept jobs that did not include a 24-hour availability clause. Gilbert yawned loudly, he dragged his hand down his face, fingers skipping over the scar before gripping the wheel again.

His phone buzzed again as he turned left onto 6th street, he swiped his thumb across it and hit the speaker. “Bougainvillea.”

“Sir!” Edward’s voice drifted through, “About that body on 6th street, COD was determined to be a gun shot, straight to the head. It’s weird though… the victim, he’s not…”

“Not what? Spit it out,” Gilbert snapped, he spun the wheel and parked neatly enough. “Where are you?”

A piercing whistle was the answer, it resonated jointly through the phone and the air. Gilbert shut his phone and strode towards his teammate. Edward was waiting for him by one of the cop cars, a large smirk on his face despite the brisk weather and the circumstances. “He’s not bleeding, Sir,” Edward continued. “There was no blood around the wound or on his clothing.”

Gilbert frowned at that and crouched down besides the still form. It was cold to the touch, freezingly so. “What did the doc say?”

“Poor bastard,” Edward replied cheerfully, “probably got caught up in some gang spat. Look at his clothing, he’s too young to be wearing that sort of finery, is what the Doc said.” Gilbert lifted the tarp and sighed, the faced staring up at him couldn’t have been older than Edward himself. The faintest wisps of a beard hugged his round chin and freckles were dotted liberally across his upturned nose. More disturbingly though were the gaping holes where his eyes should have been. Gilbert replaced the tarp and slowly stood up.

“I don’t think there was anything accidental about this, I need the full rap sheet on this guy,” he said, “if there’s a gang war ramping up, I want us ahead of it and not stuck playing catch-up.”

“Right now?” Edward’s nose scrunched up, and he sighed, “can’t it wait till the sun’s risen?” Gilbert spared him a look, and the agent darted off without another complaint. Gilbert motioned for the coroners to retrieve the body, before retreating to his own vehicle.

The precinct was awash with movement when he pulled in, the early morning crew heading out on the streets while the night watch signed out. Gilbert clocked himself in, whistled Edward away from the coffee machine and stepped into his office. Already the pile of neatly sorted paperwork on his desk looked daunting, and he groaned wordlessly at the sight.

As it turned out, their mystery man was not the only to have had his eyes extracted within the last seven months. Gilbert read through the files, marking down names with a heavy hand. The only pattern that appeared was the age of the victims, all were over 17 but younger than 30 years, and they all had come from the lower classes. Still, “37 deaths in seven months,” Gilbert muttered to himself, “how are we only stumbling across this now?” He wrote down another name, that of an orphaned girl, she child of two dead soldiers. Gilbert paused again; his gaze turned towards the window. On a clear day, he could see the marina, where more and more battleships were coming home to roost as the last of the war efforts stumbled into peace talks.

“Edward,” Gilbert said, “we’re switching angles, I need to know if the Black-Market presence has expanded lately.” There was an affirmative grunt from the floor, followed by the sound of rapid key-board typing.

The sun was high in the sky when Gilbert disconnected from his desk and shoved away to stretch. There was a headache growing above his right ear, brought on by the lack of progress since the initial break through. He stretched again and left his desk. Edward was seated at the low coffee table, his eyes still focused on his laptop. He didn’t twitch when Gilbert stepped past him, nor did he appear to have noticed when the latter returned with sandwiches.

Gilbert eased himself to the ground and set the paper back down next to him. “Eat,” he said, adding “it’s Schlotzsky's” when Edward’s nose scrunched up. There was a soft grumble but his sniper, dragged a sandwich from the bag and bit into it without so much as looking away from the screen.

……………………………………………………...…………………………...……………………………...

The sky was blossoming with shades of vibrant purple and orange, as Gilbert climbed the stairs of the apartment. The early start weighed heavily on his shoulders, and already his thoughts were being filled with images of his comfortable bed and the warm dinner that awaited him. He unlocked the front door and made his way inside, the entranceway was dark, but a soft glow drifted out from below the curtain that lead into the living room. Gilbert set his satchel down on the kitchen counter, removed his boots and headed over. The TV was on, muted, it played some re-run of an old movie. His roommate lay on the couch, a book held above his head, and a mug placed dangerously close to the edge of the coffee table.

 “You’re up late,” Gilbert said, the book lowered and a small graced his friend’s face.

“You’re back late,” Hodgins’ replied. He set the book down and sat up, rearranging the bathrobe as he did. “Dinner’s in the microwave, you hungry?”

 “Starved,” Gilbert answered truthfully, “what are you reading?”

“Just an old case book I borrowed from my brother.”

Gilbert hummed at that and went to go make himself a plate, arching an eyebrow when his friend followed him into the kitchen. Hodgins’ hair was pulled back into his traditional ponytail, and though he wore a t-shirt, the cut and look of his pants leaned more towards slacks. “You go out today?” Gilbert asked, holding a plate gingerly he backtracked into the living room and dropped into an armchair.

“Yeah, had an interview,” Hodgins said, he resumed his previous position. Gilbert waited patiently for more information, his surprise successfully muffled by a meatball. “Got the job,” Hodgins continued, he didn’t sound particularly pleased, “I start on Monday.” A hand slid down to rub his leg, he didn’t seem to be aware of it.

“You going to be all right?”

“Why wouldn’t I be, Gil?”

A quick grin that didn’t quite reach slate blue eyes. Gilbert shrugged and focused on his food. It was tasty, but that was to be expected, Hodgins had always been a good cook. All was quiet in the apartment; Gil having finished his dinner and Hodgins still reading.

Eventually, when he felt his eyelids droop for the third time in a minute, Gilbert pushed himself upright and took his dirty dishes into the kitchen. He washed them and se the in the dishwasher to dry. Hodgins had not moved in the time that he had been gone. “I’m turning in,” Gilbert said and received a distracted grunt. Freshly showered and feeling mentally drained, the major slid into his bed, pummeled his pillow into submission, and closed his eyes. His brain promptly came online with whizzing thoughts, but 15 minutes of blissful peacefulness soon booted him out of the realm of consciousness.

A pressure and a shift of the mattress had Gilbert’s eyes opening. A gentle hand, worn and familiar, on his shoulder had him relaxing again. Hodgins finished clambering into bed, settling in with a low groan. Gilbert resisted the urge to roll over and check on him, instead he scooted backwards until a hand came up to press against his shoulder blades. It was easy enough to return to sleep with it there.

Saturday morning came all too soon. Gilbert forced himself from his bed, rubbing sleepily at his face as he stumbled into the bathroom. The coffee that Hodgins shoved into his hands did little to chase out the mugginess, and he dragged himself into the precinct with a scowl on his face. Edward was already in his office, messy hair hidden by his beanie and dressed like a common street thug as opposed to a respectable young agent. He beamed when Gilbert met his eyes, and Gilbert felt his head begin to throb, but before he could interrogate the kid, his boss was calling for his attention.

“As you can see,” His boss drawled, “Edward already has the dress code down pat, he’ll fit right in among the miscreants.” He waved a hand, the fingers outlined with smoke, and took another long pull. “His reports have always been glowing, skilled at improvisation, follows his gut, quick thinker, the list goes on…”

“Aww shucks, thank you Sir,” Edward said, ducking his head and scuffing his foot on the ground. “I’ll do my best to make you proud.” Gilbert threw him a disbelieving look, the sniper that he’d been saddled with two months ago, didn’t do bashful at all, so to see that sort of expression on Edward’s face was a little irksome.

“I’m sure you will. There won’t be an issue will there, Bougainvillea?” His boss asked, the smoke poured out of his mouth and Gilbert forced back a cough.

“No, Sir,” he answered dutifully, “how many days is this assignment supposed to last?”

“In and out. He’ll be assimilating with the Wolfraim gang that nests over in the Southwood, the sooner he can get proof that this is a gang related crime, the sooner he can get out.”

“And the extraction plan?”

“We’ll have agents at the closest safe house,” was the reply followed immediately by an arrogant hand dismissal. Gilbert snarled mutely and stalked from the room, Edward dogging his heels. He stalked to his office and closed the door with a loud snap, before rounding the glare onto Edward. His subordinate had the gall to blink confusedly at him.

“Are you sure about this?” Gilbert asked.

“You don’t need to worry, Sir,” Edward replied flippantly. He dropped down into his customary seat and smiled toothily. “I’m good at faking things until I make it, by the time they realize I’m not who I say I am, I’ll be long gone.”

“Mind the cockiness.”

“It’s not my first rodeo, I’ve been a ‘snitch’,” he crooked his fingers, “since I was 8. There’s not that much difference between spying for your Uncle and spying for your boss,” Edward said.

Gilbert gave him a disapproving look but there wasn’t much he could say to that, still, Edward had been the first member assigned to his team when he’d transferred out of the military and he wasn’t about to lose him that easily. “Get your gear, we’re going out,” he snapped and strode from the room.

Edward met him by his jeep, a small duffel bag swung over his shoulder. He didn’t argue when Gilbert motioned him into the jeep, too busy looking startled. “Memorize the route,” Gilbert told him, and focused on the drive. The part of his brain that thought of such things was warning him that he should probably send a text to alert Hodgins that he was bringing a guest by, but it disappeared under the weight of his other concerns.

He parked in the street and motioned Edward over to the correct apartment, noting the light seeping through the blinds of the first story window. Edward rushed in after him, shivering from the brisk air, but his eyes were flitting around with a child-like curiosity. Gilbert felt his heart squeeze painfully at the sight, and his resolve grew. “Hodgins,” he called out, “we’ve got a guest.”

“So, I see Gilboy,” his friend said, he peered around the wall, red locks hanging loose around his face. “Who’s the kid?”

“This is Edward, he works for me,” Gilbert said. “He’ll be going undercover for a little while.” He stepped past the two of them and entered the living room, sitting down on the sofa with a long sigh.

“Gil?” Hodgins was looking at him weirdly, concern warring with confusion on his face.

“Edward, this is Hodgins. Should you need help, protection, and the assigned agents can’t help you, come here. Here is safe,” Gilbert continued, he kept his gaze fixated on Edward’s face, watching the slight widening of his eyes, and the relief that blossomed there briefly.

 “Thank you, Sir,” he murmured, before visibly summoning up a smirk, “not that I’ll need it, though!”

“Of course not,” Hodgins agreed, “but you are welcome all the same.” Gilbert thanked him silently when their gazes crossed paths and his friend shrugged, a hand flicking up to sign the words for _talk_ and _later_.

…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………….

Monday arrived without warning, Sunday had been split evenly between catching up on his sleep and worrying about the lack of communication from Edward. Gilbert rolled over in the bed and buried his head under the pillow. It did nothing to muffle the sounds of Hodgins upending the entirety of the closet onto the floor. A pair or newly polished dress shoes rested by the front door, but the rest of the floor had been lost to the clothing. Gilbert rolled over again and sat up, shoving his hair out of his eyes. He scooted up in the bed and leaned back against the headboard. A dark blue vest went flying across the room, slamming against the window with a muted thump.

“Hodgins,” Gilbert said. He waited but there was no reply, other than muted snarling.

“Hodgins,” he tried again a few minutes later, when his roommate made a reappearance. “We could go shopping.”

Eyes flicked to him, before his friend dropped onto the bed. It bounced. Hodgins flopped over sideways, his head landing by Gilbert’s crossed knees. His hands slid down to wrap around his abdomen right where a particularly nasty scar lay.

Gilbert tore his eyes away, checked the time, it really was too early, and sighed. His fingers twisted restlessly in his lap, as his brain flitted through various solutions. There was nothing wrong with Hodgins’ clothing, the material was good, and they fit him perfectly. Still… when he’d attempted to explain that, he’d been shut down viciously. The clock ticked mercilessly onwards, he checked his phone again, and even rose to peer outside the street barely visible except where it was lit by the soft glow of street lamps. Gilbert sat back down on the bed, words and feelings that he wanted to express all intertangled so that his throat locked up and it was all he could do to remain there and breathe.

Eventually, an idea arose, and snatched up his phone. A few swift flicks of his thumb and it started ringing. He stood up and stepped out into the hall, choosing to retreat into the living room.

“Hello,” the voice on the other side was grumpy and sleep filled, it drove a spike of guilt into Gilbert’s heart. “Hello? Who is–”

“Can you come over?” Gilbert interrupted.

“What? Where? Why? Hold on a second, you’re that stuck-up military dude, aren’t you?”

“Ah…yes?” Gilbert answered, he drew a breath with the intention of apologizing, but she was speaking again.

“Do you know what time it is?! Has something happened? Is Claudia okay?”

“Cattleya.”

“Because the last time you called, it was to say that he was in the hospital and they didn’t know if he would make it-”

“Cattleya!” There was silence on the other end, Gilbert sighed and pinched his nose bridge, “I apologize for calling you so early, no, Hodgins is not in trouble, however he does require your assistance. Will you be so kind as to come over, please?”

There was a moment of silence, followed by muffled yelling, and then Cattleya said, “Okay. We’ll be right there. Make sure there’s coffee.” The line went dead. Gilbert stared at his cell, shook his head, ran a hand through his hair and returned upstairs. In his absence Hodgins had rolled over, claiming the entire bed for his sole usage. Gilbert’s gaze found itself drawn to the long thin lines that marring his friend’s back. His fingers clenched convulsively and snatching up a pillow he flung it at the back of Hodgins’ head. It drew a squawk and the bed hoarder shot up to stare at him.

“Go shower, Cattleya will be here in 25 minutes.”

“What?!” A horrified look crossed Hodgins’ face and he scrambled up, “Dammit Gilboy!” He shot out the door, a moment later the shower kicked in.

Six months ago, when Hodgins had been released from the hospital Gilbert had dipped into his savings and bought an apartment that he recalled his friend eyeing. It was a simple two bed, one bath, split layered place a little in retreat from the main center of town. Gilbert had intended to only stay for a few weeks, long enough to see his friend settled. The first night had been brutal and every subsequent night until Gilbert had started climbing into Hodgins’ bed from the start instead of waiting for the screams to wake him. After that realization there was no way he could move out, not when his friend had clung to him and cried himself unconscious on his shoulder. Still in their world, such things even when they were as innocent as offerings of comfort were frowned upon, and Gilbert Bougainvillea, youngest son of the Marquis de Mensonge-Saignante, would be lying if he said that he wasn’t wary of the gazes of others. A clatter from the entrance hall caught his attention and he moved to open the door.

Cattleya Baudelaire was by common agreement considered to be a beautiful woman, even when she was standing on his doorstep with a bird’s nest for hair and dressed in a motorcycle jacket that clashed violently with her fuchsia sweatpants. “Where is he?” She demanded, as she pushed her way inside. Gilbert backed away and settled for pointing, she disappeared up the stairs.

“What’s the old man want?” Benedict asked, dressed much more fashionably he sauntered in as if the entrance way was a cat walk. Then again, to him, everywhere was a cat walk.

“Help picking out an outfit,” Gilbert explained, “he starts work at 9 o’clock.”

Benedict’s eyes narrowed, a foot began to tap as he thought. Eventually he said, “There’s a store over in the East sector, the owner owes me a favor. We can try there.”

“At 4:30 in the morning?” Gilbert asked, not bothering to hide his skepticism.

“Yeah.”

“That’s some favor.”

Benedict shrugged, eyes flickering briefly over, before he stalked past and cast himself onto the sofa. He pulled a phone out of his inner pocket and held it to his ear. Gilbert glanced towards the stairs, he could faintly make out the sound of Cattleya’s voice, but he didn’t quite dare go interfere. The coffee pot beeped loudly, Gil forced his legs to move and went to fix up four travel mugs. He loitered around the kitchen until he heard his guest head upstairs as well. The three returned shortly, and Gilbert felt his stomach drop. There was an odd look in Cattleya’s gaze when she glanced at him, an arm looped through Hodgins. He didn’t like it. A finger snap caught his attention. His roommate was watching him, head tilted slightly, he lifted a hand fingers flicking out a sign.

_Stay. Come._

Gilbert hesitated, it was unlikely that Hodgins would associate with people that would report him, but he was aware of the look that Cattleya and Benedict had just exchanged. They hadn’t trusted him then and they didn’t trust him now.

 _Go_. Gilbert signed back and snagged his keys off their hook. Hodgins smiled. Gilbert owned a car, a small four door jeep with tinted windows. Benedict stole his keys with the timeless argument of, “you don’t know where you’re going,” and Cattleya called shot gun with an exuberant whoop leaving the backseat to the two men. Gilbert clambered in and squashed himself against the door, trying to liberate a clear space between himself and Hodgins. He could feel a steady gaze on him, but he chose to ignore it, gazing out the window at the passing streetlamps. He heard a huff, it sounded partly exasperated, partially amused, but no vocal comments were made. The rest of the ride went by in tense silence. The store that Benedict pulled up in front of looked as run-down and dilapidated as the surrounding street. There was a light shining through one of the windows. Gilbert distinctly heard three different locks before the door creaked open and their guide shouldered his way in. Their greeter was a partly man of middle-age, he looked none too pleased about being open at this hour.

 Benedict conversed with him too softly for Gilbert to overhear, before jerking his thumb at Hodgins and continuing louder, “the old man needs new clothes and that’s final.” The proprietor sighed loudly but led them into the rear of the store. Where the front racks held what one expected to see in an eastside clothing store, the rear brought Gilbert up short. Rows of upper-class suits and blouses lined the walls, intermingled with dresses worth more than his yearly salary. He didn’t want to know where the man had gotten his hands on these. “Pick out what you want, old man,” Benedict said, waving a hand imperiously, “don’t worry about the price tag.” Hodgins looked set to protest but Cattleya grabbed his wrist and hauled him off with a cheerful exclamation about ‘checking out the vests’.

“Don’t worry about the price tag?” Gilbert repeated dubiously, he scanned the room again, taking note of the suit he, himself had worn as a teenager. The cut was identical and when he reached out to touch it so was the material.

“Well yeah, you’re paying for it,” Benedict replied flippantly, “put some of that Bougainville money to good use.”

Gilbert released a strangled noise, torn between offense and embarrassment. Benedict looked over his shoulder at him and added, “it’s the least you could do really.” He was gone before Gilbert could punch him, that didn’t stop the flow of curses that escaped his mouth though. Anger that did nothing to muffle the guilt that brewed in his stomach.

They were rapidly approaching the end of their window of opportunities when the trio returned bearing variations of smug grins and embarrassed smiles. Gil felt his breath catch in his throat when Hodgins was unceremoniously shoved in front of him. A sleeveless black vest, dark red collared shirt, black military grade slacks, and heeled shoes as if the guy needed any more height. The only thing missing was a tie but that needed no explanation. “It’s regular desk job,” Gilbert heard himself say, his ears began to burn a sure sign that he was turning red.

“And he’ll look damn good at his desk job,” Benedict snapped.

 “Ah…of course,” Gilbert said, his brain still lost in trying to analyze the gradient of red between Hodgins head and his shirt.

 “Gil you’re drooling,” Hodgins commented, he was smiling but promptly snorted when Gilbert went to wipe his mouth. There was nothing there.

“Too funny,” Gilbert muttered but did nothing to fight the smile growing on his own face. There was something contagious about seeing his best friend grin. The sun had fully risen by the time Gilbert pulled up in front of the Department of Social Work, they’d dropped the youngsters off on route leaving the back seat blissfully judgement free. “Good luck,” Gilbert said, holding out his hand. Hodgins squeezed his wrist, their traditional greeting since they’d been lonely children, before slapping him on the shoulder and hopping out of the car. Gil watched him disappear into the building, before tearing himself away and heading towards his own job an hour early.


End file.
